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Peter had seen colour when he had first met her. Splashes of reds, greens and blues that surrounded him like a blanket, keeping him anchored. What he never saw was the colours she gave. She would laugh and tell Peter about the colour of his blue eyes when they held each other’s gazes but all he saw was grey. He never complimented on how the colour of her favourite dress looked on her or mentioned when she changed the colour of her lipstick. He had hoped when they got married it would change everything. But it didn’t.
It had taken Talia a while to catch on but she could never understand what Peter was going through. Wolves always found it easier to find their soul mate, most of the time they did not even rely on the discovery of colours, just their scent. Talia would always mention when she first saw David her wolf was jumping, clawing its way out to meet him. Peter never mentioned that he never felt that way with Sophia. From that day, Talia would drop little hints about the colours of his wife- the colour of clothes she wore, the colour of her eyes and hair but it still didn’t sooth the tick in his head which kept telling him something was wrong.
When they had their first child Peter saw a glimpse of colour, the colours that painted his wife and child, for a second. When Peter cried he was not sure whether it was because his daughter was born into the world or because in that moment everything seemed to click together.
When his house set on fire he understood why he could never see her in colour, because like the slight moment in the hospital, she was just a fleeting moment, something that could only click into place for a moment before stopping altogether. With her death Peter’s world twisted back into monochrome and he was plagued with nightmares of fire and death. He accepted it as his punishment for trying to deny his fate. As time went on he felt everything shatter within him. The last thin bonds of pack broke as Laura and Derek left for New York, he could no longer remember the soft caresses of his wife’s hand or the way she was like life itself. He only remembered the pain as the fire scorched his body and burnt his family. Like the greys he was empty and cold. The lack of colour only served as a reminder of what he lost and what he almost had; he vowed to kill the people who did this to his family, to the people who brought colour to him.
Peter, physically, was getting better with each day. His cells were replacing themselves one by one in an almost torturous manner but his mind was plagued with fire and death. He called Laura once, hoping she would help with his cause, but she brushed him off saying that she did not want to lose what left she had of her family.
The forests were quiet when he sunk his claws into her. He could hear a part of him screaming ‘stop’ but it was suffocated by smoke and memories of fire. Sometimes Peter would remind himself bitterly that smoke was the same colour that was gifted to him when he woke up. It is a colour that only consumed and it had done its job.
Peter had first smelt apples and tasted lightning a few months after he had killed Laura. His whole body was already screaming for pack and he knew he had to turn someone in order to get his revenge, so he searched through the preserve. He smelt him before he heard him. The sweet smell of apples reached his nose and warmed his body. He felt himself rushing towards the source and slowly felt pieces of the person come together. The person’s heartbeat came in irregular pulses like it was constantly sending a message and the air surrounding him was full of sparks. Each step sent a surge through his body pushing him faster and faster until…nothing. The person was gone and was replaced with a boy who had curly hair and a crooked jaw. He was not the one Peter wanted but he took him as pack and bit him. He would have him help with his revenge but a part of him hoped that he would lead him to the person with the mysterious scent.
In the end, Scott did lead him to the scent. The owner was a boy no older than seventeen, if Peter met him before the fire he would be more cautious of the meeting, he was too young, but Peter had been changed by the fire. He knew then this boy was his soul mate in a way Sophia was not. For once he understood Talia’s stories of meeting David.
Peter had followed them throughout the school before the boy got the better of him, trapping him behind closed doors. Not only did the boy outsmart him, he mocked him, challenged an alpha. He could feel something akin to pride grow within him.
When they faced each other everything stopped. Peter could see the way the boy’s eyes had widen slightly, probably overcome by his first wave of colour, and Peter felt himself do the same. The boy gave the opposite of what Sophia gave him. While Sophia showed him the beauty of the world around him, the boy solely focused on himself like a beacon that called out to him, something that calmed his anger and filled him with life, anchoring him.
Peter heard Scott mutter the name ‘Stiles’ before they both ran away. Peter muttered the name to himself and decided he liked the way it ran off his tongue.
The second time Peter met Stiles was through his nephew and never had he loved him more. His nephew delivered his soul mate right to his door step. He figured this was fate repaying him back, giving back what belonged to him. Peter could tell that Stiles knew he was the alpha even before Derek told him over the phone. The way his lips parted in amazement made Peter wonder what colour did he see.
“You must be Stiles.” The words roll off his tongue before he could catch himself. Again Peter found it amazing that among the grey only Stiles was full of colour, like he was the only part of life that Peter would ever have left. But again someone got in the way, and like the first time he was gone, taking all the colours with him. He was filled with rage once more and lashed at his nephew. He was so close, so close to being his. Stiles was his everything. Peter felt his claws go through a family member for the second time of his life, but he did not aim to kill. Family was still family and he knew Stiles would be his sooner or later. He could be patient.
Peter had started to watch the boy, making sure he was safe. When Stiles showed up to the school once more with a girl arm hooked with his Peter felt anger rush through him. Stiles was his. The logical side of his brain told him Stiles would get nowhere with the girl but his wolf growled at the threat. Peter learned from experience that nothing is set in stone.
Peter led her to the open lacrosse field and watched her squirm and shiver like prey. Peter wanted to bite into her flesh but he had to be patient and wait for Stiles. He had to understand that Peter did not care for wandering eyes. For the first time, Peter felt envy. So when Peter saw Stiles in sight he buried his fangs in the side of her hip. Sending him a message.
Stiles came running up to them both, barely even acknowledging Peter. Stiles was so close; he could almost taste apple on his tongue. Peter took this moment to take in the features of his face. His auburn doe eyes were framed by long lashes and his face were dotted in an array of moles that splattered his pale skin. He was simply beautiful.
Peter was aware the girl would not turn, banshee blood had a specific taste, but he never wanted to turn her in the first place. He just needed Stiles to know his affections were misguided. It was a pity he couldn’t stay with Stiles, sharing meals and holding hands like regular soul mates, but this was their life.
Peter took him into the parking garage so they would have a private place to find his stupid nephew who was once again caught by the hunter bitch. Stiles had found his nephew quickly but even if he had to go, Peter wanted to stay. Peter wanted to mark Stiles as his, to have every human and wolf know he was claimed and mated. He brought Stiles’s wrist to his mouth and asked if he wanted the bite because he would always allow Stiles to have a choice. It was only fair even if it took every ounce of his will not to mark him quickly.
“I don’t want to be like you” he said. Peter could hear the spike in his heart beat but the loss of contact was like being ripped of everything again. He called the boy out on his lie but a part deep within Peter told him that everything he said was the truth. He was just the burnt out shell of the man he used to be. No one would want him.
Peter thought life was cruel. He had finally sliced his claws through Kate and got revenge for his family’s death and now he was on fire, burned by the man who was supposed to be his everything. Peter remembered once again that fire and smoke only consumed.
Buried underneath the Hale House, Peter called for Lydia. He appeared in her dreams, flirted and beckoned her closer. Lydia had always been his backup plan after he had tasted her blood on his tongue. Throughout the days he could feel the sadness emanating off of Stiles. He had heard stories about people who had lost their soul mates. He had even felt a fraction of the pain with the death of Sophia. He had to get to his boy soon.
When Peter woke up, he watched Stiles from afar, often feeling rage towards Scott who could barely keep his eyes off Allison long enough to witness the sadness coming from his best friend. He had made a mistake choosing him.
Days dragged on and he missed being in Stiles’s presence. Sometimes Peter would brush past Stiles on the streets or leave something of his at the Stilinski home, just to see the reaction Stiles would have. A month after his resurrection he climbed through Stiles window and laid in the space not taken by the boy, wrapping his arms securely around his waist. He had waited long enough after all.
Peter woke up in the middle of the night when he heard Stiles whisper his name. He grumbled and opened his eyes. Seeing the look of disbelief on Stiles’s face he brushed his hand across his face.
“I’ve missed you.” He said.
“But, you were dead, I ….. I saw what we did to you. Then the colours, they were all gone.” Stiles shuffled in closer to Peter taking in the warmth he had to offer. Peter could see the tears building up, threating to escape from Stiles eyes so he kissed the tips of his eyes, then moved to his nose and then mouth, reassuring Stiles that he was there.
“Did you know, when I first saw you only you were in colour. The rest of the world was still in black and white.” Peter said. “It was like you were the only thing that could ever keep me human, something that was anchoring me in a world that was lacking everything. You were mine.”
“Were?” Stiles asked.
“Are.” Peter said and he meant it. Peter was not going to leave Stiles again and he will never let Stiles leave him either. In a world of black and white, Stiles was his everything and Peter was not going to have everything taken from him again. Peter kissed Stiles once more before draping his arm across his waist again.
“We can talk more tomorrow, just sleep now.” Peter whispered and breathed in the scent of Stiles.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Peter watched as Stiles slowly shut his eyes, falling back to sleep. Peter followed soon after. His world might still be in black and white but he didn’t care, as long as Stiles was with him.